"I'm sure to come back. Good-by."

"Good-by, sir."

The unconscious "sir" startled Crittenden. It was merely habit, of
course, and the fact that Crittenden was not yet enlisted, but there was
an unintended significance in the soldier's tone that made him wince.
Blackford turned sharply away, flushing.




VIII


Back in the Bluegrass, the earth was flashing with dew, and the air was
brilliant with a steady light that on its way from the sun was broken by
hardly a cloud. The woodland was alive with bird-wing and bird-song and,
under them, with the flash of metal and the joy of breaking camp. The
town was a mighty pedestal for flag-staffs. Everywhere flags were shaken
out. Main Street, at a distance, looked like a long lane of flowers in a
great garden--all blowing in a wind. Under them, crowds were
gathered--country people, negroes, and townfolk--while the town band
stood waiting at the gate of the park. The Legion was making ready to
leave for Chickamauga, and the town had made ready to speed its going.

Out of the shady woodland, and into the bright sunlight, the young
soldiers came--to the music of stirring horn and drum--legs swinging
rhythmically, chins well set in, eyes to the front--wheeling into the